p. 233 | A BOY MISJUDGED

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Feb 12, 1894

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 20, No. 15.

A BOY MISJUDGED.

"Don't be hasty with Charley," said Mary Thomas to her husband, as she heard him sharply tell him not to be late home from school.

"But I mean to let him know I will be obeyed," was her husband's reply, as he added, "Now, then, be off to school, and come straight home, or I'll know why."

Charley started off with the tears stealing down his cheeks. He was a bright, manly fellow of some nine years of age, full of health and vigor, and therefore naturally disposed to be on the move. His father, however, was rather disposed to forget that "boys will be boys," or that it would be unnatural in such a lad not to be buoyant whenever an occasion presented for the display of his youthful vigor.

He had, however, to learn it to his cost. During the afternoon his business matters had become somewhat trying, and he went home with a vexed spirit. He was by no means unkind, but easily annoyed if things did not go exactly to suit him, especially little ones. Prompt and exact himself, he could not put up with the absence of such qualities in others.

Sitting by the fire in rather an unhappy mood, it was made worse by his wife coming in and saying in an excited manner:—

"I do declare, Charley has just come home in a perfect mess! He is covered from head to foot with mud and drenched to the skin."

"Where is he?" asked the father sternly.

"In the kitchen shivering over the fire. He was afraid to come in, because the servant told him you were at home."

"I don't wonder at his being afraid. Why, it was only yesterday I told him to keep away from the river, and that he was on no account to get near the edge on his way home from school. So tell him to come in this instant."

A moment after Charley entered, perishing with cold and fright. One glance at his father's face was enough to tell him what to expect from experience.

"Did I not tell you never to go near the river? It serves you right, and in the morning I'll let you know what I think of your conduct in such a way you won't forget."

"But, father," said the little fellow, "do let me explain and tell you—"

"Not one word—go to bed at once."

"I only want to tell you, father, that—"

"I tell you, not a word," said the father, and, with a wave of his hand, he added, "You go to bed or you will regret it."

Slowly the boy obeyed, and crept supperless to bed. When he left the room, his mother said gently:—

"I think, father, you ought to have heard what Charley had to tell you. My heart ached when he turned away. You know he is generally obedient, and if he does something wrong, it is more from want of thought than willfulness."

"Still he ought to do as I told him, as I did so plainly about not going near the river."

Somehow a cloud seemed to come over the home that night, and a restraint crept between them and their usual manner when alone. When at length they retired to rest, as they passed the bedroom of the little fellow, something prompted the father to look in. Creeping in and sheltering the candle, he gazed upon his boy's face as he calmly and sweetly slept. A feeling of regret at his own harshness sprung up in his mind, which he tried in vain to suppress by saying that "a sense of duty" required him to be firm. On talking over the matter, however, with the mother, he promised that before proceeding to extreme measures in the morning he would listen to what the boy had to say, and, if it was a reasonable excuse, make amends to his wounded spirit.

Alas! the opportunity never came, for when they awoke in the morning, it was to discover the lad tossing with brain fever, from which he never recovered, and in a few days, although they watched and waited in speechless agony and the most intense desire for some recognition, he passed away.

When the news reached the school, one of Charley's most intimate companions called, and after a while said:—

"I was with Charley when he got into the water."

"Indeed!" said the father, "then you can tell me how it happened."

"Yes. Two boys were fishing, and somehow one slipped in and raised a cry for help. Charley threw off his cap and jumped in, and, after a deal of trouble, got the boy to the side of the river and waded through the mud, where I helped them both ashore. Charley told me not to say anything about it, for you had warned him not to go near the water, and all the way home he kept saying: 'What will my father say when he sees me? But I felt I must save Tom.'"

"My poor, brave boy!" exclaimed the father. "That was what he wanted to tell me, and I cruelly refused to hear him, owing to my hasty temper. God forgive me!"

Hot and bitter tears rolled down his cheeks, and for years the sight of Charley's toys, schoolbooks, and other things, sent many a pang to his heart which might have been saved if he had been willing to listen before he condemned his poor boy.—Our Young Folks.